Page 93 of Sunder

She just had to believe him. That he wasn’t tucking away his resentments, and they’d all come bursting out one day. Maybe he simply was that good. That patient.

Maybe he’d walked other couples through childlessness. Saw their pain and their frustrations and knew the reality that sometimes...

Sometimes it wasn’t meant to be.

“Talk to me, Orma,” he urged, nudging his cheek against hers. “You’re all tangled up inside.”

“I don’t know how,” she admitted, her words stunted and barely intelligible because the whole of her body felt like it was coiled, her muscles tightening with each breath she took. It left her shaking, left her cold all over, and even Athan’s arms could only help so much as he brought her back into his embrace.

“Why?” Athan asked, smoothing her hair and rocking her gently. “Because you think I’ll be angry with you?”

Yes. No.

Not him. But... she’d been hushed before. It only made it harder on her parents when she told them how she felt. Mamaalready cried too much, and Father grew more severe, harder upon the healers for answers, for something to be done and quickly because his daughter was suffering and they were not helping.

It wasn’t safe to express herself. Nothing could come of it. That was a lesson hard learned.

But maybe...

Maybe it wasn’t true any longer.

The thought was just a whisper, but it settled softly. Gently. On wounds that jangled and ached as tangibly as her hip that throbbed and her knee that ached and the cramping of scars in her abdomen that didn’t feel as if they ever truly healed.

“What’s it matter how I feel?” Orma sobbed into his shoulder. “It’s selfish.” She leaned back and swiped at her face. Because she had to stop, had to be calm. Help him with his feelings, not become preoccupied with her own.

Athan took a breath before he answered, and he was not practiced enough to hide the little swell of irritation she felt trickling through the bond before he whisked it away. “That wasn’t for you,” Athan promised her, his fingers still working through her hair. Skimming at the base of her skull. Delving deeper so he could massage the tight tissues he found along her spine, the hunch of her shoulders. “That was for whoever made you feel that way.”

“They did their best,” she reiterated, and Athan’s hand stilled, but only briefly.

“I will not argue that,” Athan reassured her, because that was not one she could endure. Not about her family. “Only that your conclusions might be flawed.” He was quiet for a moment. Just let her cry, let her try to pull herself together. However, her thoughts were too plagued with what was inside his head, so relaxing was near impossible. “Most of the couples I’ve seen that cannot conceive, they do not know the reason. I think that ablessing, strange as it might be. You’re trying to blame yourself, are waiting for me to hold it against you. That makes me sad.”

Her lip wobbled. “I don’t want that for you.”

Athan huffed and tucked his chin onto her shoulder. “I did not want my parents to die, but it happened. And that brought me to my master. To my role as healer. I’ve made something rather good of it, I think. It might not be what I’d have chosen as a boy, but I have no true complaints. I do not think that makes me perfect, not like you say. I would just rather make the most of what I can rather than dwell on what I’ve lost.”

His thumb slipped through her hair to the delicate skin behind her ear. “You dwell.” It was as much a criticism as he’d ever given her, and as softly given as it was, she still felt it deeply. “I do not say that to hurt you,” Athan promised her. “It is merely an observation.”

She closed her eyes tightly. “I don’t know how to stop.” A breath, shaky and unhappy. “I would if I could.”

Athan nodded, and he brought one hand down to her leg, not to push her off of him, but rather to massage the ache in her leg, wherever he might reach. “I know,” Athan murmured.

They sat for a while; him offering relief to too-tight muscles. Her wrestling down feelings she didn’t know she had. Wasn’t she meant to feel better now? A weight lifted, a secret shared.

Instead, she felt so exhausted. “Can you take me home?” Orma asked. “And... hold me for a while?”

At another time, another place, she would have asked for a potion. Something to make her sleep, to help her forget.

And while the desire for one flittered through her mind, the want of his arms was far more pressing. There was a strange twinge in the bond, but it settled quickly. She gave him a curious look, and he offered a sheepish one in return. “For a moment, I thought you meant for me to take you back to be with your parents.”

Of course he would. Because he doubted her commitment to him. To the life they were going to build.

She’d given him little reason to trust her, even as he’d worked so hard to prove himself to her.

That had to stop. Had to change. She wouldn’t go back for more than visits. Her place was here, and she had to decide how best to show him that.

Her head hurt. Her heart, too.

He did not wait for her answer, because he likely didn’t expect one. He was generous with his reassurances, but she thought too much, and worried too much, anddwelledwhen she should be present. They were at the ramp when she finally found the words. She had to be sure, had to put strength into her tone, not a whisper. Not a hesitation.

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